


Making work for idle hands

by MsPeppernose



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Peterick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 13:36:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3211049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsPeppernose/pseuds/MsPeppernose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A grounded flight and being snowed in in a hotel means boredom. Pete is doing his best to keep himself occupied but sooner or later he needs Patrick to entertain him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making work for idle hands

**Author's Note:**

> Rated T for swearing :)

Pete is bored. So fucking bored. He can’t actually remember the last time that he was this bored. And that’s saying something considering how boring and monotonous the days on a long tour can get. The nights are fine. Once they get to a venue it picks up and he’s always so excited to play but the days could be long and so, so boring.

The last two days have been even longer and more boring than ever because they’ve been snowed in. They should have had two days off – a rarity – where he could see whatever city he was in, get out and do something fun, whatever. But instead they had all been stuck in a hotel for two fucking days, with the shittiest of weather outside, waiting to get word on when they could fly to their next destination

Pete had been fine with it at first, nothing to do meant taking it easy, no responsibilities, no interviews, no people to please. Nothing at all really. Which is where the problem started.

On the first day they were stuck in the hotel, Pete had used almost all of the hotel amenities, he’d gone to the gym and ran himself ragged on the treadmill, and he’d even gone to the hotel spa and gotten a massage. These were short lived activates and he’s fairly sure that he can’t do either of those things all day without losing his mind to them too. 

He’s sick to death of hanging around the bar and the lobby, waiting for news that they could leave. He’s driven the other guys to distraction by hanging out in their rooms while they tried to quell their boredom, to the point that Andy kicked him out of his and Joe’s room. The persistent doing nothing is not using up enough of his energy, and he feels on edge and restless. He’s wound tight like a spinning top and he needs to let it loose but there’s nowhere to spin to. The only thing that Pete can imagine would be worse, might be if they were stuck on the bus instead of in a hotel.

He’s sharing a room with Patrick, as usual, and Patrick is doing somewhat better with his cabin fever, but Pete can tell that it’s starting to get to him too because every now and then he lets out a long, drawn-out sigh into his book or his laptop. 

Pete can’t even look at his laptop any longer, and he’s impressed that Patrick is still fiddling away with it. If Pete writes one more blog post about being bored he might just throw his laptop out the window. And maybe throw himself after it.

He’s bored. Bored bored bored. 

“Patrick-”  
“Don’t say it Pete. I swear to god.”  
“What?”  
“If you say you’re bored once more, I’m going to murder you and bury your body in the snow.” He glances up briefly and from the look on his face Pete thinks he might be half serious.  
“But-“  
“Don’t say it. Find something to do. Read a book. See what the guys are up to. Go to the gym again, maybe take a swim? Just don’t fucking tell me you’re bored, ok?” Patrick looked at him and threw him a pleading look. “It’s making me feel bored. And who knows how long more before we get out of here?”

Pete says nothing in reply. He scrunching his eyebrows together, trying really hard not to say that he’s bored. It’s on the tip on his tongue, fighting to get out. He’s so fucking bored that maybe fighting off Patrick trying to murder him might be something fun to do for the afternoon.

“Didn’t that waitress give you her number? Maybe you can call her?” Patrick’s voice has tones of _Why don’t you get out of the hotel room and stop bothering me?_  
“Nah, she was sweet, but I’m not interested.” Pete thinks for a second and then smirks. “I can call her and give her _your_ number. She was totally checking you out too, you know?” Patrick glares at him, and it seems like Pete has hit a nerve, even if it’s just a small one.  
“No thank you, Pete.”  
“C’mon. Might be fun.”  
“I think I’d prefer for you to go back to saying you’re bored.”  
“I’m bored, Trick.”  
Patrick makes a face at him. “So I heard.”

Pete gets up off of his twin bed and flops down next to Patrick on the other bed, making the bed wobble and Patrick’s laptop bounce on his knee. Patrick gives him a look and Pete smiles brightly at him, all innocence.

“I’ll call that waitress.”  
“Good. Great.”  
Pete doesn’t take his eyes off Patrick and speaks slowly like he’s thinking. “And tell her you’re interested. She’ll be thrilled.”  
“Please don’t, Pete.”

Pete rummages in his hoody pocket and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper with some hand written numbers on it. The waitress had been really cute, very smiley and sweet, but Pete has no interest at all, and he isn’t asshole enough to string her along just for something to do while he’s so goddamn bored. He’s not intending on calling her and telling her about Patrick either but he figures his activity to keep boredom at bay, for the next half hour at least, might be winding up Patrick. 

“She has nice handwriting,” Pete says quietly, thumbing along under the numbers and fishing his phone out of his jeans with the other hand.  
“Pete!” It’s a warning. A warning that Pete is choosing to ignore.

Patrick stares at his laptop screen but Pete knows he has one eye on him now. He fiddles with his phone for a minute, knowing Patrick is throwing him sidelong glances and he can’t help but smirk. He might be acting like an asshole but at least he’s not bored any more.

“Do you think that’s an eight or a five?” He flashes the paper in general direction but Patrick doesn’t look at it.  
“Pete, don’t. Please. Just go take a walk or something. Don’t be a jerk.”  
“I would never,” he says, grinning and knowing full well he’s being a complete jerk. “I think it’s a five.”

Patrick is no longer looking at the screen but staring at Pete and he looks pissed off. Pete can’t help himself but to push further. “Yeah, it’s a five.” It’s then that Patrick snaps his laptop shut, his full attention focussed on the piece of paper in Pete’s hand. Pete dials a few numbers, nothing close to what’s on the paper, it doesn’t actually matter. He glances at the paper again, then the phone, but when he looks back up at Patrick, he’s lunging for the scrap of paper.

Patrick makes a swipe for it but Pete is quick to react. He stretches his arm away from Patrick to keep the paper out of his reach and smirks. “C’mon Pete,” Patrick says, and there’s an element of pleading in his voice, but Pete is becoming more and more amused. He dials a few more numbers at random, just wanting the keys to make a sound so that Patrick thinks he’s calling her. 

"Oh, Patrick. It’s ringing.” It’s not ringing, but Patrick doesn’t know that. He lunges for Pete again, this time landing half across Pete and knocking him from a sitting position onto his back. “Careful, Patrick,” he says, smirking again. Patrick ignores him and this time he’s an inch away from grabbing the phone from Pete’s hand. Pete is still keeping up the pretence of being on the phone so he fights back, pressing against Patrick’s chest with his other hand to keep him at bay. 

Patrick doesn’t give in, he scrambles forwards and tries to knock the phone away, and then grabs Pete’s wrist. His knee is almost on Pete’s chest, he almost has him. He’s a strong little fucker, but Pete manages to push him off and flip them so that he’s straddling Patrick with a hand on his chest, holding him down. “It’s still ringing,” he teases, and Patrick loses it. He bucks up against Pete, his shoulders coming off the bed and his hand is right in Pete’s face, pushing his cheek so Pete’s head turns and the phone is nearly thrown from Pete’s hand. 

“Hey, this is Pete from the restaurant,” Pete just about manages to say, though he’s struggling to keep the phone anywhere near his ear and he’s laughing. He doesn’t get any further into his pretend phone call because Patrick flips them again so that he’s over Pete. The bed is only a twin bed so it’s a wonder that they haven’t ended up rolling onto the floor yet. Patrick grips his thighs around Pete and they’re so tight that Pete can’t wiggle free this time. When did Patrick get such a deathly thigh grip? Pete tries to push Patrick off again, his hand in Patrick’s face but Patrick leans his weight down onto Pete’s chest, and okay, it’s getting a little hard to breathe now. Patrick looks seething, his face is red and his teeth are gritted and he leans in so close to Pete. There’s a few seconds where they just breathe hard and stare at each other and there’s something in Patrick’s eyes that Pete can’t quite read. Pete thinks it’s probably around now that he should call time on this before one of them seriously hurts the other, either by accident. Or not.

“Okay, I give!” Pete says, holding his hand up in in surrender. “I wasn’t actually calling her.” He presents the screen to Patrick which proves that there’s no call in progress. “See?” Pete smiles like he expects Patrick to see the funny side, though he knows he’s crossed a line now and that Patrick is pissed. Patrick just grabs the phone and tosses it in the general direction of Pete’s bed. It bounces off the mattress and hits the floor.

Patrick sits back up, and he’s fuming. He untangles himself from Pete and manages to elbow Pete in the ribs as he does so. And as much as Pete knows that elbow was intentional, he’s still oddly sad for Patrick to get off him, like a chill has swept over him without his punching, kicking Patrick-blanket.

"I'm going to get a coffee downstairs. Let me know when you’re done being an asshole."  
“Okay,” is all Pete can say before Patrick grabs his phone and a second hoody to layer on, and then he’s gone.

Pete would feel bad for winding Patrick up so much, but he doesn’t really feel as bad as he should. Patrick will calm down and forgive him, Pete knows this. Pete has wound Patrick up much more than this and he’s always found a way to worm his way back into Patrick’s good books. 

But now Patrick is gone, the room is empty, and Pete is bored again.

He takes a long bath to try to kill some time, filling the tub to nearly overflowing and squirting all of the hotel toiletries he can find into the water to make it smell nice. He knows that Patrick won’t be back for a while, wanting to cool off and keep his distance from Pete after he was such an ass, so Pete closes his eyes and settles in for a long soak in the almost too hot water. He pointedly _does not_ think of how Patrick was just lying on top of him, straddling his waist and wrestling him. He doesn’t think of how Patrick’s thighs felt, snug against his own. Pete also definitely doesn’t think of the prickling heat in his chest when Patrick’s warm breath feathered on his neck and when Patrick’s face was an inch from his. He maybe thinks about it a little.

He tells himself that he must be really bored if he’s thinking of Patrick like that.

When Patrick returns, Pete is dressed in comfy sweat pants and a hoody and has cleaned up the room a little, straightened up Patrick’s bed where the covers were askew from their wrestling match. Patrick has been gone about an hour and a half so he must have been pretty mad. Pete feels a little worse than he did earlier. Patrick is his best friend and he probably shouldn’t be taking out his boredom by torturing him just for amusement.

"Hey,” Patrick says, only glancing at Pete.  
“Hey, Trick.”

Patrick grabs his laptop and opens it, settling on his own bed. “You done being a jerk?”  
“Yeah.” Pete feels a bit sheepish.  
“You sure? ‘Cause you were being a complete jackass.”  
“Sorry. The cabin fever is getting to me.”  
“Why don’t you write? Or run? Or look out the window and count birds or something? Anything!” He gives Pete a small smile. “We’re stuck here until tomorrow at least. Hopefully not longer than that. But you are going to drive me fucking insane if you don’t find something to do.”  
“I know. Sorry.” And he is. Pete gets off his own bed and sits himself on Patrick’s, much more carefully than the last time. He leans his head against Patrick’s shoulder and looks up at him. Patrick smiles and Pete knows he’s forgiven. 

“Tell me a story?”

Patrick laughs. This is a proven technique for shutting Pete up with not a lot of effort and they both know it. “Okay.” He snaps his laptop shut again. “But just a quick one, okay?”

Patrick settles back against the pillows and Pete curls up beside him, pleased as punch that he’s going to be entertained, by Patrick, and in such a nice way. Patrick starts into a story about a space ranger (“Named Pete?”, “Of course!”) and details a fascinating tale of aliens and space monsters. Pete has gotten stories like this from Patrick before, usually when he’s exhausted from not sleeping and so wound up that everything feels like it’s collapsing around him. It’s something that Pete found worked quite well for him and he often ends up drifting off to the sound of Patrick’s voice soothing him to sleep. Today is no exception. Pete falls asleep somewhere after the space ranger rescues Patrick the Handsome Prince (as requested by Pete) from some alien deviant or other. 

Pete wakes and he has no idea how long he’s been asleep. He’s curled up on his side with Patrick’s warm weight pressed behind him breathing steadily, and it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Two grown men on a single bed is always a squash but Pete would prefer it this way than stretched out in a double bed or a king sized bed. And right now, any bed without Patrick would be far too big. Despite having a nap he still feels antsy. He stays pressed to Patrick for a while, listening to Patrick’s breaths and matching his own breathing to the same pace. He stays for as long as he can but he’s never been very good at staying still for too long, so eventually he has to get up. 

He decides to hit the gym again, run off some extra steam. He slides off the bed as carefully as he can, trying not to wake Patrick. He grabs a few things; iPod, gym shorts and sneakers, and lets himself out quietly. 

He sets himself up on a treadmill in the corner of the gym and turns his iPod up. He runs until he can barely breathe. His heart is pounding and his muscles and aching and trembling by the time he’s finished. He’s sweating to the point that his shirt is soaked through around the collar and all the way down his back. But he feels slightly better. Some of his excess energy is used up so maybe he’ll be more pleasant to be around.

He uses the showers at the hotel gym rather than in his room, hoping that Patrick is still grabbing a nap (and some peace and quiet,) and it gives him some new surroundings and a little bit of distraction. The gym showers have different toiletries than their room so Pete steals a shower gel bottle. It smells of vanilla flowers and Pete hopes that it will go some way towards making up for him being such a dick earlier on. Even though Patrick seems to have forgiven him, Pete knows he was being needlessly cruel in tormenting him. Plus he used all the complimentary shower gel having his earlier bath, and should probably make sure Patrick can wash himself if he wants to.

Back in the room, Patrick is up from his nap and sitting on his bed, propped up against the headboard, with his laptop and his headphones on. He waves to Pete and Pete decides to leave him to it, give him some time to work on whatever he’s doing. 

Pete manages to stay still, on his bed, with his laptop for close to an hour leaving Patrick to work. It feels like a real achievement. But after that he has ants in his pants and has to stretch, and move, and just not sit down and be quiet really.

He heads to the bathroom, takes a piss, checks himself in the mirror. He heads back out to the bedroom and riffles through his suitcase, maybe he has something to read. He’s basically trying to find something, anything, to so that he doesn’t disturb Patrick. He must be more noisy and distracting than he thinks because Patrick gives up on his laptop.

“Did you head to the gym?”  
“Yeah I got a good run in. If it was a better equipped gym I’d make Andy lift things with me. But a run was good.”  
“Feeling less fidgety?”  
“Not really. But a bit, I guess.” He lies flat out on his bed and then sits bolt upright when he remembers that he has a gift for Patrick. “I got you something. Actually, I stole you something.”

Pete fishes out the bottle of shower gel from where he threw his dirty workout clothes and hands it over to Patrick. Patrick turns it over in his hands and furrows his brow. 

"Thanks. But you know you didn’t actually have to steal this, right? Like if we ask at reception they will just give it to us.”  
“Yeah,” Pete says and scrunches up his nose, making a face. He’s a little sad that his gesture fell short of what he was intending. But then Patrick sends him a little smile and he feels a little better. Pete throws himself back onto his own bed, flat out and stares at the ceiling.

“Patrick-“  
“Don’t say it.”  
“I wasn’t going to!” Pete protests, and he really wasn’t.  
“Good. ‘Cause I’m fucking bored too now so we can’t both say it repeatedly.”  
“I was going to ask if you wanted to do something.”  
“Like what?”

Pete thinks. They’re running out of things that could be deemed as even remotely interesting. There’s nothing on television, Pete’s checked. Pete has nothing decent to watch on his laptop and the wifi isn’t quite fast enough to stream anything, maybe because everyone else that’s stuck in the hotel is also trying to stream things. The internet has lost all meaning unless they want to fuck with trolls on forums (and Pete thinks that they might actually turn themselves into trolls in doing that).

“We need to do something. Make our own entertainment.”

Patrick says nothing but throws him a look that says ‘I told you so’.

“Do you want to play a game?” Pete asks in his best _Saw_ impression.  
“Am I going to have to cut my leg off? Cos I’m probably close to that already.”

Pete narrows his eyes at Patrick. “If you want to. But I was thinking more like throwing bits of paper into the trash and keeping score. Or Peanuts of something.” Pete grabs two packets of peanuts from the mini-bar and waves them at him.

“Nah. Sounds dumb,” Patrick says. Pete pouts. And makes puppy dog eyes. He’s a breath away from saying ‘pwease’.

“Please? It’s something to do?”  
Patrick sighs and gets up off the bed. “Fine. Expensive game though if you’re using mini-bar peanuts?”  
“Fucked if I care. If you want to go down to the bar to get beer nuts go ahead though.” He tears open a bag and shovels a handful into his mouth.  
“Nah. We’re rockstars right?”  
“That’s the spirit, Pattycakes.” Pete says, and throws a peanut at Patrick.

“So what are the rules?”  
“Dude, it’s just peanuts in a trash can. Whoever gets the most in the cup wins? Go!”

Their peanut throwing skills are close to matching - most of the time when one of them misses so does the other - so they create an advanced, more challenging version where the trash can replaced by a plastic cup. A smaller target means more points for a hit and Pete is ahead by one peanut by the time the bag is nearly empty.

"Stump, I'm totally kicking your ass."  
"You wish, Wentz!"

Patrick picks up a peanut and squints his eyes. He takes aim and fires a peanut towards the cup. It hits the back of the inside and sails right in.

"Fuck yeah. I'm the master!"  
"No! It's even now. We're tied!" Pete sticks his tongue out at Patricks and Patrick flips him off. There’s no way Pete is going to let him win this one. He takes pride in his peanut throwing skills. 

"Ok. We're even. One peanut left each. There should be a prize.”  
"What's the winner get?"  
“Whatever you want, Patrick. A favour.”  
“Anything? So I can make you shut up and you can’t complain?” 

Pete saw that one coming. He narrows his eyes at Patrick. “Sure. But don’t forget I get whatever I want if I win.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and it’s supposed to be suggestive but in reality it probably won’t be anything close to it. He has no idea what he would choose. Most likely he will squirrel it away and use it when he’s pissed Patrick off, or when he’s done something stupid and needs Patrick’s help to fix it. The usual.

Patrick smiles and looked smug. "Whatever. I'm going first. I’ve got this." 

Pete watches Patrick line up his shot, and the second before he fires, Pete bends over to grab his phone off the other side of the bed and stumbles, leaving him on all fours with his ass in the air. Patrick's shot hits wide of the cup and the peanut falls off the other side of the table.

"Cheater!" Patrick says. "You moved. You put me off!"  
"Hey! I did not. Sore loser."  
"You fucking did! You may as well have mooned me, Pete." Though he’s smiling. “If you wanted to win that bad you should have said. You didn’t need to cheat.”  
"I didn't! Not on purpose."  
"You...distracted...it put me off," Patrick trailed off.  
"I didn't." Pete really hadn’t intended to put Patrick off.  
"Take your shot."  
"Do I not win by default?"  
"Fuck off. Take your shot.”

Patrick picks up the last peanut and holds out his hand for Pete to take it. Pete ignores the fact that the tips of Patrick’s fingers brush his palm when he hands it over. He lines up, ready to take aim and just as he’s about to fire, Patrick coughs. It’s the most over acted, exaggerated cough Pete has ever heard. He looks around at Patrick and he’s smiling, but feigning innocence. "Sorry. Such a dry throat, think I'm coming down with something." He’s smirking, the fucker.

"Now who's the cheater?"  
"Takes one to know one!"  
"Jesus, how old are you? I totally didn't cheat. Not on purpose." Pete can't keep the smile off his face. Patrick is an endearing cheat. "You missed! But if you're not gonna let me take my shot without being an ass, I can't win either.”

“Take the shot, Pete.” Patrick takes several steps closer and Pete is suddenly aware that they are only a foot apart. Patrick grins at him.

"Ok. But no cheating."

"I would never." Patrick pretends to be incredibly insulted and Pete flips him off. Patrick can look angelic when he wants to but Pete knows he’s lying through his teeth.

Pete takes half a step closer to the cup and Patrick laughs. "That's too close. That's totally cheating."

Pete scoffs and makes a face. "Oh come on! Where do I stand then?"

Patrick looks like he’s thinking. He stand right behind Pete and puts both hands on Pete’s waist to move him approximately one inch to the correct spot. Pete shivers slightly when he feels Patrick’s breath on the back of his neck and the warmth of Patrick’s chest against his back. 

"That's exactly where I was standing!" Pete whines like an insolent child.  
"Nah huh. Pete, do you want to take the shot or not? You said you wouldn’t cheat.”

Pete spins around, about to object again and Patrick is so close to him. They’re face to face and almost nose to nose. Patrick's hand is still on his waist and from the look on his face he’s not exactly sure what to do next either. Pete locks eyes with him and then his gaze drops to Patrick’s mouth. It’s involuntary, he’s done it so many times. Just not quite like this. Before Pete can stop himself – not that he really wants to – he’s leaning in to tentatively kiss Patrick.

Pete's lips graze Patrick’s and Patrick doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t kiss back. All Pete can think of is how he should stop this right now, he’s obviously made a mistake and read things very, very wrong. He’s beginning to pull back in a state of mild panic when he feels Patrick’s lips chase his and press back against him. Pete’s not sure what to do, he hadn’t really planned any of this. Imagined it, dreamed it, *fantasised* about it, maybe. But not planned it. His brain finally kicks into gear and his lips move back against Patrick’s again, slowly and a little unsure.

Pete’s skin tingles where Patrick touches him; first his lips and his waist where Patrick’s hand is curled around him, and then Pete’s cheek as Patrick’s hand slides up, grazes Pete’s cheekbone and locks it into Pete’s hair. Pete wraps his arms around Patrick’s waist and holds on tight. Patrick parts his lips just a little, just enough for it to be an invitation, and Pete slides his tongue in. The kiss is slow, but deep, and so goddamn sexy. They take a step backwards and Pete’s ass hits the edge of the writing desk they were using for the peanut game. With a solid object to hold them up they get lost in the kiss a bit. Pete feels a little light headed, and when Patrick lets out a soft sigh against Pete’s mouth, it makes Pete pull away. 

"Patrick," is all Pete says, but it’s barely more than a whisper, and he’s lost for any words other than that. Again he’s not sure what to do, so he just leans his forehead against Patrick’s and breathes. Patrick looks like he’s about to open his mouth, to say something Pete thinks, but it could also be to kiss Pete again. But before either can happen, they both jump when there’s a knock at the door.

Neither of them move, except to stare at each other, and it feels like they’re sharing the same panic, like they’ve been caught out. They’re glued to the spot until there’s a second knock at the door and they break apart. Patrick takes several steps back and the moment is gone. He looks slightly on the frantic side, looking around the room at nothing in particular and rubbing at the hair on the back of his neck.

“Guys? Yo! Are you there?” It’s Joe’s voice. “We’re getting food.” 

Before Pete can say anything, Patrick is grabbing a hoody. “Yeah. Coming.” He heads for the door and then turns back to face Pete. “Are you coming?”

Pete just stares at Patrick wondering how he can ask such a normal question after what just happened. His brain is still a little slow but he manages to get the words out. “Yeah yeah. I’ll be down in a sec.” He has to go for food with the guys, has to act like this is all fine, at least until he can talk to Patrick about this. It all feels a little surreal.

The door closes with Patrick on the other side. Pete has to breathe, and it’s not just to catch his breath, more like breathing exercises his therapist taught him for anxiety. Slow in and out, breathing right into the pit of his stomach. He tells himself he’s not going to freak out. Even though he completely is, because Patrick’s tongue was just in his mouth. He breathes again, slowly, calms himself. He gives himself a little pep talk and tells himself it will be fine; he just needs to go down and have dinner and be normal for just a few hours and the rest will fall into place. Maybe. Ironically, he thinks that’s the advice that Patrick would give him if he’d gone to him for help with a problem that didn’t involve freaking out over kissing Patrick.

Pete gets through their meal. It’s actually completely fine. Patrick isn’t sitting beside him so maybe that helps. Pete spends his time talking mostly to Andy and his mind is occupied.

The mood of the table switches from bored and grumbling, to one of optimism when they get word that their flight has been rescheduled for early the next morning. Soon their cabin fever will be a distant memory as they get back into the swing of tour dates and the usual obligations that come with them. Most importantly, they will have things to keep them occupied once again. Pete is not sure if he’s as relieved as he should be. He’s thrilled that they won’t be stuck in the hotel for much longer, but he knows he should speak to Patrick before they leave in the morning or it may get more complicated. He thinks if they leave the hotel without clearing the air he will probably pretend the whole thing never happened. Then again, it might be easier that way.

At some point the conversation changes, and Pete’s not sure where it comes from, but someone mentions favourite sandwich fillings or something stupid like that, which leads to someone saying peanut butter. At the mention of the word ‘peanut’ Patrick and Pete both snap to attention and stare at each other. It’s just for a second, but there’s a look between them and Pete wishes he could read Patrick’s damn poker face, but he can feel the memory of Patrick kissing him, and here’s a faint tingle on both his lips and his tongue. After that second, their moment between them is broken by the conversation changing.

Patrick seems to avoid any unnecessary eye contact with Pete after that, looking slightly uncomfortable. Patrick heads back to the room before Pete does with a lame excuse and Pete’s heart breaks a little. He’s hoping that Patrick just needs some time to process everything, but Pete fears the worst; that he may have broken something very special by letting his hormones get in the way.

When Pete gets back to the room, the lights are out but for a bedside lamp. Patrick is either asleep or doing a very good impression of it, he’s facing away from Pete and his face is in darkness. Pete dresses in the semi-darkness and gets into bed hoping things will be better in the morning if he can just talk it out with Patrick. He’s willing to forget the whole thing ever happened – even if he would prefer not to – if he can just have Patrick back.

Pete falls asleep okay, but his problem is usually staying asleep. Tonight is no different. He wakes and the room is still dark but for a sliver of light coming through the darkness from the street lights, and their glow reflecting on the snow outside. He hears cars on the street but there's lots of time between them which indicates that it’s still he middle of the night rather than early morning. He tries to channel his concentration into breathing and counting, anything to slow his mind down enough to sleep again, but it’s not working. He turns over and tries to get comfy, then turns again, and again. He kicks the blankets off when he’s too warm and then pulls them back over him when the air in the room is too cool. After his eleven millionth time turning over, Patrick’s voice from the other side of the room startles him.

“Can’t sleep?’  
“Nope. You?”  
“I was asleep until you started the comforter Olympics over there.”  
“Sorry,” he says. And then, “Can I sleep in your bed?”

Patrick hesitates and then makes a sound that Pete assumes is a yes. He grabs his pillow and slides out of his bed and then into Patrick’s. He thumps his pillow into place beside Patrick’s even though there’s not quite enough room and Patrick shifts over. Pete snuggles down into the bed, facing away from Patrick who turns and lines his chest up behind Pete. Pete reaches behind him for Patrick’s arm and pulls it around his waist like always. It should feel weirder since they kissed earlier and still haven’t spoken about it, but it’s just like any other night that he can’t sleep. 

The two are silent for several minutes but from Patrick’s breathing, Pete knows he’s still awake.

“Patrick?”  
“Hmm?”  
Pete knows that _hmm_ well. It’s Patrick’s pretending to be asleep sound. “I know you’re not asleep.”  
“No, but I want to be.”  
“Me too,” Pete says into his pillow. He would quite like to be asleep. But he also wants to address what happened earlier. Maybe ass o’clock in the morning is not the perfect time but its most of the reason he’s awake at this ungodly hour. He’s always overthinking something, but this one is much more important than usual. “Patrick?”  
“You said that already, Pete.”  
“Should we talk about earlier?”  
“Earlier?” Patrick sounds like he’s trying to play dumb. Pete silently scoffs. No one can be that dumb. Pete rolls over so that he’s facing Patrick. He can just about see the outline of his features in the shadows. He feels sick and he’s not sure if it’s from the lack of sleep or the nervousness that’s building at the thought of possibly ruining everything.  
“Yeah. You know, when my tongue was in your mouth?” There’s not much light in the room, just that little bit from the street lights. But even in the almost-darkness Pete could swear he sees Patrick’s cheeks flush.  
“That. Yeah. We probably should.”

Pete waits for Patrick to say something else but it seems that Patrick is waiting for Pete to do the same. 

"So,” Pete starts. “I don’t really know where to start. Except,” he pauses, “I wish we’d played peanuts before. And I hope we play peanuts again.” Pete’s glad that the light in the room is limited to a soft glow, maybe Patrick won’t see the nerves that must be so clearly written across his face.

“Peanuts?” Pete could swear Patrick is trying to sound innocent. But he knows him too well. He’s making Pete spell it out for him. Pete can’t really blame him because one of them needs to do it. Pete can do that.

“Yeah. You know. Where we throw peanuts into a trash can and keep score. And I’m so good that you have to accuse me of cheating.” Patrick laughs, and Pete continues. “We keep throwing them in until we spend a small fortune on mini-bar snacks. It’s pretty fun. Then there’s the bit where you put your hand on my waist. Like this.” Pete demonstrates by placing his hand on Patrick’s side.

“And then what happens?” Patrick asks. He sounds nothing like innocence now but he’s still trying to control his voice. He sounds somewhere close to nervous and not far off excited.

“Then I do this,” Pete says and he closes the short distance between them and kisses Patrick. Patrick takes a sharp breath when Pete’s mouth touches his, but he kisses back right away. The kiss is awkward. The angle is wrong and their noses bump. Pete can’t tilt his head to the way he wants it because there’s too many pillows under him, but he strokes his finger along Patrick’s cheek and kisses with all he’s got. Patrick brings his hand up to cradle Pete’s jaw and then slides it around to tangle in the hair at the back of Pete’s neck. Pete smiles against Patrick because he really can’t help it.

“Okay,” Patrick says, his voice low. “I like peanuts.” Pete giggles. Peanuts might be the best thing ever, excluding the fact that Patrick now has Pete’s hand in his and they’re nose to nose, and he’s slightly out of breath from them kissing, which is Pete’s favourite thing in the world right now.

"I know, right? It’s maybe something we should do more often? Though using all those peanuts is sort of a waste?”  
“Maybe just the bit without the peanuts then?”  
“I like that bit the most.” Pete can’t stop smiling and he wonders if this is real of if he actually managed to fall asleep and this is a cruel, teasing dream and he’ll wake up with Patrick’s knee in his back, half falling out of bed and have another day of soul crushing boredom ahead of him instead of this wonderful moment.

“Pinch me.”  
“What?”  
“Just. You kissed me back and I’m not sure that I believe it’s real. Please, Trick?”  
“You’re an idiot.”

Patrick obliges though, and gives Pete a firm, sharp pinch on his bicep. “Ow. Okay. Just checking.”

Patrick tuts and then laughs, and Pete kisses him again just because he can.

"Wait. Are you doing this to be an asshole again? Like, this isn’t a joke, right?” Pete wants to feel hurt, he would never do something like this as a joke, not to a stranger and never in a million years to Patrick. He’s been wanting to kiss Patrick since the day they met. But considering the shit that Pete has been pulling on Patrick today, it’s a fair question.  
“Nope. I promise this is for real.”  
“And you’re not just doing it ‘cause you’re bored?” Patrick looks cautious asking, and Pete scowls, but again it’s a fair question.  
“Nope. I promise, Patrick.”

Patrick looks serious. He bites the inside of his lip and stares at Pete and Pete can see the little wheels in Patrick’s head turn while he processes everything. It’s a lot to take in. Patrick’s mouth slowly turns into a smile and Pete grins. 

“Well then,” Patrick says.  
“Well then,” Pete repeats. He’s waiting for something more from Patrick. A smile is something, but it’s not quite enough for Pete to know that this is all okay.

“Want to do that again?” 

And Pete can’t believe his luck. That’s more than a smile. It’s more than enough signal for Pete. Of course he does! He nods enthusiastically and he thinks he must look like one of those bobble headed dog toys that people have in the back of their cars. “Yes, Pattycakes. I really do.” Patrick leans forward and kisses Pete again with more force than before.

Pete hooks his knee over Patrick’s calf so that their legs are tangled together and slides his hand around Patrick’s waist and down over his hips. They’re pulled closer together and Pete can’t help but sneak his fingers in under Patrick’s pyjama top to touch at the soft skin underneath. 

Patrick’s hand slides up and down Pete’s upper back sending shivers down Pete’s spine. Patrick inches lower until he gets to the small Pete’s back. He dips down just a little bit more, and Pete thinks (hopes) Patrick’s going to grab his ass, but then he stops.

Pete mirrors those moves and trails his hand down Patrick’s body. He travels over Patrick’s hip and the curve of his ass, and Patrick makes a little squeak so Pete continues down and curls his hand onto Patrick’s thigh. He’s thinking about working his way back up, over the knobbly cotton of Patrick’s pyjama pants to squeeze Patrick’s ass again, and maybe even dipping hi fingers down under the waistband. But instead Patrick’s hand covers Pete’s on his thigh, halting him in his tracks. 

“Pete,” Patrick says, barely pulling his lips from Pete, so the sound is muffled.  
“Yes, Pattycakes,” Pete says, equally muffled by Patrick’s mouth, but he smiles and then pulls back to look Patrick head on. 

"Pete, can we keep it slow? Like, just kissing?” Pete laughs at that. “Don’t laugh, Pete. Look, I just think it’s better we take our time with this.” Patrick sounds a little cautious, and more than a little hurt.  
“Hey, no. I’m not laughing at the thought of going slow. That’s totally fine with me, whatever you want. I’m laughing at the thought that it could ever be _just_ kissing with you, Trick. You make it sound like kissing is nothing, but seriously, have you any idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you?”  
“Maybe as long as I’ve wanted to kiss you?” Patrick replies, and Pete can’t help but grin. He presses his smile to Patrick’s mouth for yet another kiss, and the little butterflies in his tummy go so crazy that he might levitate off the bed.

He kisses Patrick again and again, everything from light little pecks to long, lingering, toe-curling kisses. He never wants to stop doing this.

“At least we have something to do now,” Pete says between kisses. “Kinda hoping our flight gets cancelled again.” He twists his fingers into Patrick’s shirt and Patrick shifts closer until their chests are pressed together.

“So you’re not bored anymore?” 

Pete grins and presses a kiss to Patrick’s mouth again. “Nope. Not on your life.”


End file.
